


salvare.

by orphxus (impxria)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, M/M, trigger warnings posted in the beginning notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4823192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impxria/pseuds/orphxus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">[ salvare ] : to save.</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	salvare.

**Author's Note:**

> ;; **trigger warning** : drug mention; vomit mention; suicidal thoughts/attempt
> 
>  
> 
> [{ please listen. }](https://soundcloud.com/mattiacupelli/love-lost-1)  
> 
> 
> * * *

Sick. 

Disgusting.

Worthless.

Knuckles turn white as trembling appendages grip the porcelain sink. Droplets fall onto the smooth surface, rushing and combining frantically only to wash down the drain.

You don’t want to cry anymore; you don’t want to be like this anymore.

You don’t want to die, but you don’t want to exist.

You’re shaking harder now; reality has hit and you’ve understood what you’ve done when an empty gaze focuses on the floor. Prescription bottles are scattered across ivory tiles; pills spread throughout the bathroom. 

Your vision is blurry and a sob threatens to escape, but it’s lodged in your throat. You’re drowning, but there’s no water. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe, and one day, you’re going to stop.

And you want it to be today but you don’t want it to ever happen.

This isn’t right-- _this isn’t right_. 

No, please-- not today, not yet, not--

Your frame shudders when instincts kick in, a hand clasping over your mouth as a sickening feeling consumes you.

**.     .     .**

The phone hasn’t buzzed the whole day. There are no responses--- no texts, no calls.

Possibilities run through his mind; maybe you’re busy, maybe you’re just napping-- the brunet tries to reason with himself, but the anxiety gnaws away with each passing moment.

He has to see you.

And he’s running-- he’s running as fast as he can, the image of your smiling face spurring him on. He wants to see that expression-- the one he loves so dearly. His limbs ache and his lungs scream for oxygen, but he doesn’t care. Fear builds with each sprint; the usual lighthearted countenance is replaced with trepidation.

He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but when he finally arrives at your place, he can’t breathe. The male is winded, but the sight that greets him completely takes away the little air that is left in his body.

Furniture is spread haphazardly-- this is not the place he knows. 

This isn’t home away from home. 

The lamp is on its side, shattered pieces of the vase rest on the hardwood floor-- and an eerie silence fills the ravaged room.

But your cries break it.

And his body moves on its own towards the source; his gait threatens to halt when he sees you on the bathroom floor, slumped against the wall. Knees are hugged tightly against your chest, muffled sobs resonating throughout. A lump forms in his throat, lips parted slightly. But composure comes and he’s frantically calling your name in an unrecognizable tone, on his knees before you.

It doesn’t take long for you to look up at him and acknowledge the other’s presence, but every second is valuable and every second of your life could be taken away at this very moment. His hands are cupping your face, desperation drowning in brown hues as words spill like ink running down worn pages.

“You need to--”

“I already did.”

The response doesn’t come out smoothly; your voice is thick and uneven breaths take place between each syllable released. The relief felt comes and goes.

Gingerly, he picks you up, carefully watching his steps as he enters the living room. Your body rests firmly against his; energy gone as you listen to his heartbeat. You want to stay like this forever-- you want to be with him and you want to be happy and you don’t want to think that way again but you _can’t_.

You wish it was that easy, but it’s not.

Oikawa sets you down on the couch, your hand firmly in his as he calls for an ambulance. You’re afraid to go, but resistance would be of no use. He hangs up, phone carelessly put aside before he focuses on you again. He’s crouched down, studying your every feature with apprehension.

He doesn’t ask why. Because you don’t know.

He doesn’t say it’ll be okay. Because he doesn’t know if it will be, despite how much he yearns for it to be.

He doesn’t say he understands how you’re feeling. Because he doesn’t and he doesn’t know if he ever will.

The brunet is rendered speechless. His thumb grazes against skin to wipe tears away; the gentle touch bringing only a small amount of comfort. 

Why can’t he say a damn thing? His mouth runs dry and the sorrow etched upon features only grows. Yet again, you break the silence.

“Save me, Tooru.”

Your voice cracks.

“I can’t.” He whispers; his eyes begin to sting because he wants to do something to help but he doesn’t know _what_.

He can’t. But he can stay by your side and be there for you.

And he speaks once more. 

“But you can.”

**Author's Note:**

> ahh;; i tried not to romanticize this. rather than oikawa showing up and everything suddenly being okay, i wanted it to allow the reader to know that if they ever did get better, it'd be because of their own strength. thank you for reading!
> 
> ** ahh someone told me to stop romanticizing mental illness so i really hope that i didn't. i tried very hard to not-- and perhaps i didn't execute that correctly.


End file.
